Engaged
by tiger7210
Summary: Marinette and Adrien had known it was going to be news. They were both high-profile figures, famous in their own right. He was a desired model starting up an acting career. She was the head of a company bigger than she knew what to do with. But she hadn't realized it was going to be this much news. Adrinette in the future. Linked drabbles and teeth-rotting fluff.
1. BREAKING NEWS

**Guess who's supposed to be working on this that aren't this! (It's me)**

 **I couldn't help myself though. These guys write themselves.**

 **Check out my tumblr alyssawritesalot for more Ladybug and Zelda things.**

 **~Alyssa  
**

_**BREAKING NEWS.**_

Wedding bells are in the air for two Paris stars!

After months of rumors, unconfirmed sources, and sneaking around, it's finally official—Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste are engaged!

The model son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, 25, and the designer mogul, 26, have sealed their relationship of seven years with a ring, according to exclusive photos posted by _La Vie_ last Thursday. Cheng was spotted with an estimated 3 carat cushion-cut diamond on her left hand, and boy, all we have to say is this: ABOUT TIME!

The pair started dating following Cheng's entrance as an intern in 2018 to _Jolie_ magazine, where Agreste was frequently featured. The amateur designer soon became a smash-hit, and took all of France by storm when she launched her own publication, _Coccinelle,_ in 2022. Four years and millions of magazines sold later, no one has their finger on the pulse of Paris like Cheng. Sources close to the couple say that while being the CEO of a multi-million dollar company has its difficulties, the pair is closer and happier than ever.

Who wouldn't be, with the size of that rock?

"Adrien is really supportive of the whole thing," a source tells us, adding that "Her success is his success. He's so excited to take on the next chapter of their lives together."

We're so excited to see what the future holds for Paris' favorite couple! From all the crew here at _Mon Dieu,_ we wish them all the happiness in the world!

Adieu, cheries!

 **xoxox**

Marinette pulled her scarf tighter over her hair as she sped past the newsstand outside of her apartment, trying very hard not to notice her own plastered smile glaring at her from nearly every cover.

 _God_ , this could not be happening.

She and Adrien had known it was going to be news. They were both high-profile figures, famous in their own right. He was a desired model starting up an acting career. She was the head of a company bigger than she knew what to do with.

But she hadn't realized it was going to be _this much_ news.

Neither of them had even confirmed it. There was nothing from either of them on social media, and they had yet to announce it at their respective workplaces. All she had done was step out of her home with the ring on the right finger.

She had apparently underestimated how closely the public was watching her. It was almost unsettling.

She adjusted her large sunglasses to make sure they were still in place as she scampered through the doors of her building and through the lobby.

"Congratulations, Ms. Cheng!" the doorman called as she passed.

She flinched, jamming the 'up' button on the elevator harder than necessary.

Once the doors had safely closed behind her and she was alone, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall with a groan.

This was so much. Too much.

It wasn't that she didn't love Adrien. She did, with all her heart. When she pulled him off of his knees and told him 'yes', it was the best decision she had ever made, and she wasn't embarrassed to say so. Adrien was all her dreams realized, the best part of her, and she had left on the ring because she wanted the whole world to know that she was his.

She just hadn't realized how much the whole world would care.

Tabloids. Newspapers. Talk Shows. They all wanted a piece of her and Adrien immediately, and it knocked the wind out of her. Yesterday her publicist had called in her a panic, demanding to know why everyone had suddenly wanted a piece of her time. That's how Marinette had to tell her the news.

That was the worst part of the whole ordeal. The reporters were forcing her hand, making it impossible for her to tell her family and friends this happy news on her own terms. Now that her business was the public's business, she had to be quick if she didn't want her parents finding out every detail of her personal life from a magazine.

Ridiculous.

The elevator finally made it to her floor, and when the bell rang and the doors opened, she peeked carefully out to make sure there were no cameras before proceeding. Her complex was generally very good about security—she and Adrien weren't the only two celebrities that found their home here—but last night, she had somehow been swarmed.

A sigh of relief escaped her when it was silent.

Her apartment was one of two on the floor, and she turned the corner quickly as she fished for the keys in her purse. But before she could even extract them from the mess, her door flew open, and a strong pair of arms pulled her through the threshold and swung her around.

She was laughing when Adrien set her down, closing the door and pushing her gently against it in a single motion. He covered his body with hers, pressing their foreheads together with an infectious smile.

"Hi, fiancée."

There was something about him that made all of her worries disappear in an instant.

"Hi, fiancé."

"What's with the costume?" he asked, taking off her sunglasses and scarf and putting them onto the table by their entryway. She sighed.

"I had to take the back entrance out of work today," she told him, pulling a crumbled edition of _La Vie_ out of her handbag and handing it to him. "The cat's out of the bag. We're front page news."

"Was that a pun?" Impossibly, his grin grew wider, and he beamed at her proudly.

"You were bound to rub off on me sometime. Now, look at it"

He flipped to the spread mentioned on the cover with ungodly haste, nodding in approval at the glossy image of the pair of them someone had taken at an event the year before. "My hair looks good here."

He seemed unruffled, and that ruffled her. "Is that all? You aren't annoyed at this—this blatant lack of privacy?"

"When have we ever had privacy, Mar?" He kissed her cheek. "Alya practically stalked you in _lycée_ as Ladybug. Why is this any different?"

"Because when I didn't want to be famous anymore, I could turn back." She sighed. "Ladybug is a part of who I am, but when people see her, they don't really see _me_. They're all looking at me now, and it's still hard."

"I guess I'm used to it." He rubbed a sympathetic hand down her shoulder. "I've always had people following me around. But you learn to ignore it. It's all garbage anyway. Listen to this:" He held up the article. "'A source close to Marinette tells us that she thinks the ring is too plain for her tastes, and that she expected more from a fashion icon like Adrien!'" He looked up with a snort. "Is that what you really think about it?"

She held up her hand, where the absolutely incredible diamond glimmered, and grimaced. "Well, it _is_ a bit gaudy, don't you think? You might have picked something a little more innocuous, something that all the tabloids wouldn't have picked up on…"

He raised an eyebrow. "You love it."

Heat rose to her cheeks and she met his gaze, giggling happily as she broke her character. "I do. I love it _so_ much. It's perfect."

He leaned down to give her a peck. "I know. _You_ know. Your family knows. Our friends know. That's all that matters. Let everyone else think what they want."

She smiled, dropping her back and wrapping her arms around his neck to keep his lips pressed against hers. They shared a lingering kiss, and she felt her heart soar.

She loved this boy.

"You're right," she said as he took her hand, guiding her into the kitchen. "What's that I smell?"

He grinned again, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "I figured my mogul fiancée would have a rough time at work, and I didn't have a job today. I can't cook, but I did go all the way to the Fifth District to get takeout."

"You spoil me," she laughed as she took the seat he offered her, pulling out a carton of noodles.

News aside, they were going to be just fine.

 **Do me a solid and leave a word! I hope you guys like these two as much as I do!**

 **Until next time!**


	2. HIGH PROFILE HOTTIE

**Chapter two: in which Adrien is hot and bothered and Marinette has no time for his testosterone-fueled nonsense.**

 **The most challenging part of my writing career is writing these damn tabloid articles. I have sifted through** _ **so many**_ **garbage articles trying to figure out what to say. I'm not cut out for this. I don't care about gossip or fashion.**

 **The things I do for you all.**

 **Whining aside, hope you enjoy reading the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **~Alyssa**

 **HIGH PROFILE HOTTIE – ADRIEN AGRESTE AROUND THE TOWN**

Notorious model and newly-engaged Adrien Agreste, 25, stepped out for a stroll Monday afternoon, and are we ever sorry that he's off the market! Sporting an Agreste black blazer with a white button up, slim pants, and leather workman's shoes, even his day to day looks are absolutely yummy! He slipped on his _Ray Bans_ as he slid into _Quick,_ coming out with two bags heaping with grease. To hell with the model figure! Hats off to you, Adrien!

 **xxxx**

Adrien awoke in the morning to the sound of the shower and an empty bed beside him.

Last night had been a lonely one—it was a weeknight, so he patrolled alone while Marinette caught a precious few hours of sleep. The changing of the seasons brought a thousand more things for her to do for _Coccinelle_ , and this last week she had been in the office more often than not. Though he understood the necessity of all her work, he couldn't help but feeling especially bereft.

He remembered their days in university when they'd wake in each other's arms every morning, and sighed. Now her job took her out of bed before the sun rose, where he had the luxury of afternoon shoots.

There just weren't enough hours in the day. If she wasn't working, he was. In two weeks, the longest he'd spent with her at once was an akuma fight, and even then, she'd sped away at first chance, freaking out about a meeting she would be late to.

The door to the bathroom opened then, and in walked a half-decent Marinette, her robe barely covering her thighs. Her hair was down for once, falling in pretty curls that brushed her shoulders.

"Morning," she hummed when she saw he was awake, crossing to the closet and disappearing from his line of view a second later.

His mouth quickly grew dry.

The past seven nights had consisted of him crawling into bed and exhausted from a night of watchful guard over Paris, falling asleep immediately, and waking up to find her gone.

It had been so long, _too_ long, since he'd last touched her.

She emerged dressed in a blazer and skirt ensemble that did wonders for her figure and nothing to help the ball of heat rising in the bit of his stomach.

"Come back to bed," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her towards him. He was face to face with her chest, and that suited him just fine.

She petted his hair. "I have a meeting at nine, and five more lined up before lunch. The new fabric swatches for the spring collection are coming in, and I have to review the online blurbs before they post them. Not the day to ditch."

He raised his head, giving her his most pleading look. He knew nothing he could do would convince her to stay, but no one could blame him for trying.

"I'll see you tonight," she said, leaning down to kiss him. But what she intended to be a chaste peck would simply not do. He pulled her down against him and rolled on top of her, ignoring her squeal of protest.

"Adrien, my clothes!"

"I'll miss you," he crooned, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I really…" Her breath hitched as he kissed her nose. "Adrien, I have to—" Her left cheek. "I really have to go—" Her right.

She was flushed by the time he reached her lips, and when arms threaded around his neck, he smiled in victory.

"You can spare me ten minutes, can't you, my lady?"

Thankfully, Marinette no longer seemed concerned with the time. She only pulled his face closer to hers. "We're going to need a little longer than that."

She kissed him passionately, enthusiastically. It seemed that he wasn't the only one feeling neglected; the desperate way that she clung to him spoke volumes. He ran his hands down her sides and around her back, rolling them over so that he'd have access to her clothes.

She was wearing too many, and that would have to be remedied.

His fingers crept underneath her jacket, untucking her blouse, and her hands fisted in his hair. When she broke away, panting, he trailed his lips across her jaw and down her throat, humming happily. She tasted of soap and sweat and _Marinette_ , her blood pounding beneath his touch, and he found his eyes flashing open to see the flush that was surely rising.

But he was confronted with more than a flush. There was a red mark the size of a coin tucked just in the juncture where her neck met her collarbone.

He smirked.

"I don't remember giving you this," he murmured against her skin, drawing his lips down over the splotch.

She jerked back involuntarily, a sheepish smile gracing her face when he asked if she was all right. "It's just tender. I wasn't paying attention when I was curling my hair, and the tip of the wand just _sizzled_. It's a burn."

"Doesn't look like it." Though his bubble had most definitely been burst, he couldn't help but grin. "The press is going to have a field day with that one."

Her hand came up to cover the mark. "Oh, no! You don't think it's that noticeable, do you?"

"With your skin?" he laughed, "It'll be even brighter by the time you leave the office, and it's practically glowing now."

She pulled out of his arms to scamper across the room to her vanity, moving her hair aside and angling her neck to see it. She made a noise of frustration, gently running a finger overtop.

"You're right. It _so_ looks like a hickey."

"Well, it's no secret we're in a happy relationship," he offered, and she gave him a flat look.

"I have an image, you know."

He nodded. "A lovely one. I've seen it. I'm not seeing enough of it at the moment, actually, so if you want to come back over here, we can continue where we left off—"

"Not a chance." She glanced at the clock on their nightstand, fixing her shirt with a smirk. "I've got five minutes until I have to leave."

He raised his brows, still hopeful. "I can make that work."

"Save it, kitty." She rolled her eyes, grabbing her jacket from her vanity chair and waving goodbye. He barely had the chance to marvel at how _excellent_ she looked in that new skirt of hers. She hadn't so much as closed the bedroom door before a black figure zoomed in, stopping just in front of his nose.

"If you're not going to be gross, you want to make yourself useful and get me some cheese?" asked Plagg.

Adrien swatted him away, covering his face with his pillow and groaned.

He was going to have to take a cold shower if he was going to face this morning.


	3. LOVESTRUCK LOVEMARKS?

**LOVESTRUCK LOVEMARKS? ADRINETTE HEATS UP!**

Marinette Dupain-Cheng either got in a fight with a tiny-fisted wrestler, or she had a hot date last night.

Cheng and her new fiancé, model Adrien Agreste, have heated up the city of love this week with the announcement of their engagement, and now it looks as if someone has marked his territory with more than a ring! _Le Monde's_ photographers spotted the 26-year-old fashion designer on her way to _Coccinelle_ headquarters, and it looks like she was sporting a hickey on her neck.

Nothing makes us quite as nostalgic for high school as a hickey does, but we have to wonder if Cheng appreciates the love bite - which we're assuming is courtesy of Adrien- since it's also a little embarrassing.

Well, to each their own!

 **xxxx**

"This is not happening," Marinette said for the fourth time, staring down at the tabloid in her hands.

The kwami on her shoulder rubbed her cheek sympathetically. "Adrien _did_ warn you people would notice."

"I can't believe this is news. This is so _stupid,"_ Marinette groaned, leaning down until her forehead hit her desk and burying her face in her arms. "Like the engagement? Fine. We're both famous. Adrien's clothes? Sure. He's a model. But why do they care what I had for dinner last night? Why do they have a _ship name_ for us? _Adrinette?_ Who even came up with that?!"

She was in her office at _Coccinelle_ , too mortified to even step out of the door. The last time she had ventured out was when one of the boys from beauty had thrust the magazine she was staring at now in her hands, laughing along with the rest of his department gathered in the breakroom. Though her more nervous tendencies had dissipated with age, she barely had a moment to squeak, " _It was a curling iron_!" before she skittered back into her office like the coward she was.

How ridiculously undignifying. These paparazzi were reverting her back into a fifteen year old girl.

"Oh, Marinette," Tikki said, "This is nothing new. People have been following around Ladybug for years!"

"It's different with Ladybug," Marinette sighed. "You know that."

"You just have to keep your head up," the kwami ordered, her little voice stern. "Of course they're interested in you—you're wonderful, and everyone is finally seeing how talented you are! But soon, someone new will come along, and they'll get bored of following you around."

Before she could argue, the intercom on her desk buzzed, and the voice of her receptionist squawked, "Someone on line three for you, ma'am."

"Thank you," Marinette said, pressing a few buttons on her dock and picking up the phone. "Dupain-Cheng."

"So Adrien is _quite_ the territorial boy, isn't he?"

"ALYA!"

Her best friend erupted into peals of laughter, and Marinette rolled her eyes as the girl struggled to continue. "I—I'm _sorry_ , but really? The mark's too round to actually be a hickey; it's a perfect circle. They just want to terrorize you. It's bad journalism, if you ask me."

"Yeah." Her head fell into a hand. "But what's up? I have a meeting in fifteen."

"I just wanted to confirm for the 17th. I need time if I'm going to pull of the best bachelorette party Paris has ever seen!"

Marinette didn't even glance at her calendar. "Alya, I still don't think that this is a good—"

"That's not what I asked, Mar."

That was her _my-best-friend-only-gets-married-once-and-you-will-not-deny-me-the-fun-of-this-party_ voice.

She sighed. "It's not that I don't want to. Really, I do. But the way the press follows me around? God forbid I let myself have a good time and someone gets a picture of me doing—doing—"

"Doing what?"

Marinette didn't know, and that was the worst part. Fleeting images of magazine covers plastered with pictures of her drinking, of her laughing, of her face flushed as boys in various stages of undress danced around her passed through her mind. She really had no idea what Alya was planning, but none of it would be something she wanted the whole world to see her doing.

But then again, she was sick of living her life being afraid of what other people thought. She wasn't in high school anymore; anything but. She was a successful, responsible adult, and she could do whatever she wanted paparazzi be damned.

She shook her mouse with her free hand, glancing at her schedule before responding, her voice suddenly quite resolute. "The 24th would be better. I have a Sunday lunch with Sophie Marceaufor her perfume line on the 18th, and I would rather not be hung over."

Alya clapped her hands with glee. "Fantastic! This is going to be so great, I promise! We're going to a place so underground that nobody in their right minds would think to find us there."

"Very comforting." Marinette rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about it. If any photographer even comes close, their ass will be mine."

The girl always knew how to make her smile. "Sounds good to me. I'll text you later, alright?"

"Bye!"

Marinette had barely put down the phone when her cell buzzed. A smirking face popped up on the screen as a cat meowed, demanding her attention.

Her smile grew wider as she picked it up. "Hi, kitty."

She was met with a slow, seductive purr. "According to Maxim Online, we're the 87th most sexually deviant celebrity couple."

"What?!" she demanded, and he burst out laughing.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." His voice was back to normal now, and she could hear his smile. "But I did see _Ooh la la!_ on my way to the shoot. You have to give credit where it's due, though; it's a great shot. That photographer has _skill_."

"They're vultures."

"I know. I called to see if you were alright."

The genuine concern in his voice made her want to melt. She wished he was there instead of on the phone so she could bury her face in his chest and hold him tight to prove that she loved him just as much.

"I'm over it," she said honestly, toying with a pen. "I just realized that they're only going to make me uncomfortable if I let them, and I'm not willing to hide for the rest of my life."

"Wow." He paused then, considering something. "Does this mean we can do normal couple stuff outside? Can I kiss you in public? Can I stick my hand in your pants pocket when you walk?"

She laughed. "You are _so_ needy."

"Well, if you won't let me give you hickeys, I have to have _some_ way of showing the whole world that you're mine."

She glanced down at the more than ostentatious ring on her finger. "I think it's safe to say that everyone already knows."

"Just hedging my bets." His voice became soft, then. "I can't wait until we're married."

"Me neither. Maybe everyone will think we're boring after the wedding and leave us alone."

"Wouldn't that be nice. But if you keep up these torrid affairs with your curling iron, I don't see the press dropping you any time soo—" His voice suddenly cut off with a choke.

"Adrien?" she demanded, and when he didn't answer, she said it louder. "Adrien?!"

She heard him swear, and there was a crashing sound in the distance, followed by screams.

"I AM CENTER STAGE, AND YOU'LL WATCH ME IN THE SPOTLIGHT!"

Oh, hell. She had a meeting.

"Champs Elysees," he said hurriedly, clearly running by the sound of his labored breath. "I'll hold him off."

"Right." She hung up, pressing several buttons on her desktop phone at a frantic pace. When her assistant picked up, the words spilled out in a rush.

"Something just came up. Clear my schedule until lunch; I don't care what you have to move this week to do it."

With that, she turned to her kwami, a grim smile coming over her face.

"Those shoes will have to wait, Tikki. Paris needs us!" she said. " _Transform me!_ "

She had escaped out her window and into the city in the next moment.

 **Leave a word!**


	4. ADRIEN REUNITED WITH HIS FATHER?

**Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. They mean the world!  
**

 **Check me out on tumblr at alyssawritesalot!**

 **ADRIEN REUNITED WITH HIS FATHER?**

Adrien Agreste is having the best year ever. He walked in Paris' acclaimed Fashion Week, has netted nearly 4 million in endorsement deals, and was named one of fashion's most influential celebrities. He's ending 2025 with a bang, landing a major spread in his father's company, _Agreste._ It's been years since Adrien's been seen with his pops, but it seems the two have done some cozying up! According to sources close to the model, Agreste will become the global ambassador for his father's line, starting with the Fall 2016 season. Adrien has walked in the brand for most of his life, so it seems that the appointment has been a long time coming!

 **xxxx  
**  
It was Saturday morning, and for the first time in a long time, Marinette woke up on her own accord, at ten.

She blinked once, bewildered as she stared up at the ceiling.

Ten? That couldn't be right? She hadn't slept in to ten since…since…

Since as long as she could remember.

Things were normally so hectic. If it wasn't work, it was designing, or an akuma attack, or a meeting with friends. Sleep was a rare commodity, one that she wasn't used to getting.

She sat up and slid out of the covers, feeling disturbingly well-rested. Adrien was already awake, it seemed, and there was something so _strange_ about not seeing his peaceful, slack-jawed face beside her.

As she padded barefoot out of the room, she pondered her stroke of luck. Did she really have nothing planned for the morning? A quick check to her computer confirmed what she had thought impossible. Yes, there was nothing until one.

Bizarre.

She wasn't about to question it, though.

She pulled the curtains back on the wide window that stretched the length of their back wall, sighing happily as she looked out on the Parisian vista in front of her. The people were about, the birds were singing, an underwear model was plastered on a billboard across the top of the building across from theirs—

She froze.

Adrien. That was _Adrien._

His arms were flexed behind his head, fingers threading through his perfectly tousled locks. His emerald eyes smoldered with an intensity she had only seen in moments she could scarcely recall without a blush. Every inch of his body, every line and sinew and muscle, had been recreated in gigantic, high-definition detail for the whole city to see. She could see a bead of sweat on that juncture between his neck and collarbone, and the freckle that she loved to kiss on his shoulder was easily noticeable.

She nearly squeaked in indignation.

That was _her_ freckle! Only she was allowed to see that!

"Adrien!" she called, her hands balling into fists as she crossed them over her chest.

He came out of their bedroom with nothing but a towel slung around his hips, and when he saw her in a tank and his sweatpants, his grin became lazy.

"Going to finish what you started last week, Princess?" he asked, raising a brow.

He was liquid sex, and on a normal day, the sheer high of knowing she was the only one who got to see him undone this way would have led her to jump him right then. But she _wasn't_ the only one who got to see him this way anymore.

The entirety of Paris was going to see him this way.

She stalked over to the couch and hurled one of the throw pillows at him.

He caught it easily, his expression shifting from seductive to bewildered. "You okay?"

"Come look at this!" she snapped, pointing at the window before resuming her angry stance. He listened to her without question, tossing the pillow where it belonged on his way over. When he pulled back the curtain and was faced with his own image, he blinked and immediately burst out laughing.

"That isn't funny!" Marinette exclaimed, punching his arm with a supreme pout.

"Are you kidding? The only thing that would be better is if there's one outside my father's!" he hooted, sagging against the wall. "Come to think, I should call _Ralph Lauren_ and have them put one up! Can you imagine?!"

He opened his eyes to look at her, and when he realized that she wasn't laughing along, stopped right away.

"Mar?" he asked, grabbing her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She made a face. "You might have told me you were posing _nude_."

"Hardly nude," he protested, "All the important bits are covered!"

"Barely!" she cried.

"Yeah, well, that ad paid for the quartet at the wedding."

"We can tell them to give it back," she sulked. "I can pay for the quartet all on my own."

"When have you ever had a problem with my shoots?" He was clearly astonished.

A part of her knew she was being irrational. Because he was right—she'd never had an issue with his modeling before, and God only knew that he'd done underwear more than she could count. The billboard was nothing new, nothing different.

Maybe it was the familiarity of the expression. Maybe it was the size of it. Maybe it was the fact that now they were engaged, and he was hers more than he had ever been before, because somehow, everything was different.

"Now," she said, and when she realized how pathetic that sounded, she took a step forward and buried her face in his neck. His arms came around her immediately, but she could tell he was still confused. "I don't know. It took me off guard, is all. I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"It's just…" She looked away, biting her lip. "I don't know. It's stupid."

He lifted her chin, gently forcing her gaze up to his. "Nothing you say is stupid. If it's bothering you, tell me."

Her mouth twisted. "I'm not jealous."

He raised a brow.

"I'm not!" she insisted. "I _know_ you're mine. I have complete and utter faith that you're never going to stray from my side and that no one else will ever stand a chance."

That was a demon they had destroyed a long time ago. In the beginning, she had harbored many insecurities about being lesser than him because of their respective standings. He was already famous; she was nobody. Though he had never so much as glanced at any of the millions of fans that followed his every step, she couldn't help but feel like she could never live up to their expectations. She felt insignificant. Unworthy. It had taken years for him to convince her that he belonged to her utterly.

He nodded. "That's right. So why are you upset?"

"Because I'm worried that nobody _else_ knows that!" The words flew out of her mouth in a rush, and as soon as she realized that she had said it, her cheeks flushed bright pink. It just sounded _so_ ridiculous. She felt like a fool.

But Adrien didn't laugh. His hands fell down her shoulders to rest on her forearms, and he rubbed her soothingly. "Have you seen a magazine lately? I'm pretty sure _everyone_ knows that I'm yours."

"It's not the same," she said, because it wasn't. "When people look at me, they see my ring and they know I'm engaged. But there's nothing like that for you. When they look at that billboard, they're not thinking " _off limits"_. They're thinking, " _yum",_ and that bugs me. _"_

"If they're not thinking about buying _Ralph Lauren,_ I'm not doing my job," he muttered, but a second later, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "I'm yours," he said, and she nodded.

"I know."

He grinned. "I'm _yours_ ," he said again, and she couldn't help but return his smile.

"I _know."_

He let go of her then, going over to their balcony and throwing open the doors. "I'm Marinette Dupain Cheng's," he shouted to the world, "And while I won't be changing my last name because I have a brand image to uphold, she completely and utterly owns every fiber of my being! You should see the stuff she does in b—"

"Adrien!" she laughed, pulling him away from the doors. He struggled, but she was stronger, and they flew over the back of their couch and onto the cushions in a heap.

Breathless, he wrapped her arms around her again, straining up so he could kiss her nose. "I love you."

She let her head fall onto his chest. "Love you, too."

They were content to lay there in silence for a time, with nothing to disturb the perfect silence but the muted sounds of the city below.

When he spoke, it was abruptly. "If you want, you could get me a ring."

She pulled back so that she could look at him. His face was completely earnest. "What?"

"You know. An engagement ring," he shrugged, toying the Miraculous that rested on his finger already. "It's only fair. Besides, what's one more?"

"Really?" she grinned.

"Absolutely. As gaudy as yours. I want at least as many trash articles about how I was disappointed in it, or I'll write them up myself."

She giggled, kissing him lightly. "You're better than I deserve."

He smirked. "Don't you forget it."


	5. PARIS MODEL, PAIR OF RINGS

**It's been a while, but I really had to focus on school and now that that's all over, I can write a lot more. I just graduated high school Wednesday, and now I move on to college. I'll be attending American University in the fall!**

 **Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you guys enjoy :)**

 **~Alyssa**

 **PARIS MODEL, PAIR OF RINGS?**

Adrien Agreste doesn't have just one ring on his finger…he has two!

The Parisian model, socialite, and recently turned fiancé of one Marinette Du Pain-Cheng, 26, is true-to-form turning heads his way when he stepped out on the town Friday morning, and not because of his dashing good looks! No, it's because of the whopper of a ring he was sporting on his left hand!

Now, Agreste is no stranger to jewelry—he's worn a platinum signet ring for so long that it's become his signature—but even that ring doesn't come close to this one. The estimated 25,000 Euro masterpiece nearly puts the rock on his fiancée's finger to shame!

But the point isn't to ogle—as gorgeous as it might be—it's to wonder what prompted such an expensive buy. Is it a product placement? Seems unlikely, considering the finger. The inlaid ruby and onyx pattern reminds us a little of our very own Ladybug, and Agreste has proved himself to be quite the fan. Then again, ruby is Marinette's birthstone, having been born in July. Could it be a promise ring of sorts? Who knows?

All that's sure is we love a man willing to break boundaries!

 **xxxx**

Adrien stood in front of the mirror in the atrium outside of the banquet hall, fiddling with his tie for the eighth time.

One would think that after countless near-identical black-tie occasions that he would feel at ease, but somehow he still could not escape the same choking nerves that always overtook him in the presence of company. Tonight, though, it was even worse than normal.

Tonight, for the first time in years, he would dine among Paris' fashion elite at an Agreste function. For the first time in years, he would break bread with his father.

It had been close to a decade since Gabriel had warned Adrien away from the money-hungry, influence-desperate slip of a girl that he believed Marinette to be when they had graduated from university. She was too plain in his eyes, too determined. She wasn't the sort of girl that was willing or able to be molded into a tool for his collection, and as such, had taken every opportunity to express his disapproval.

Those were the days that he still booked all of Adrien's jobs, still collected and managed all of the revenue. As they lived under the same roof, he controlled virtually every aspect of Adrien's life. Adrien couldn't go out without a flippant comment. He couldn't return home without some scathing remark. Any purchase from his card was scrutinized. His pictures on social media became a topic of discussion over dinner. Though he wouldn't find out until later, even his phone logs were monitored.

In an effort to distance the pair, Gabriel had exercised all of his influence to ensure that Marinette wouldn't succeed in the fashion world. He wrote to all the designers he knew about the low-class, poor-taste wardrobe she paraded in. He lied about the way she had sunk her claws into his son. She slowly became a wreck as the stress ate at her, and Adrien could do nothing but watch as the girl he loved deteriorated into nothing. He didn't know how to help her. He started to think that he was no good for her.

But then a tabloid got ahold of one of his father's letters.

 _Mon Dieu_ magazine was a horrible piece of trash on the best of days, but it couldn't be said that their writers lacked integrity. Rather than going right to print with the sensitive document, they emailed Adrien with a copy of the letter and a promise not to reveal the truth…should he provide them with something better.

The next morning, he'd cashed his savings, packed his bags, and scheduled an exclusive interview with Marinette. A week later and they had found a squat apartment where his head brushed the ceiling. A few days after that, the exclusive lead to his dear lady getting her first real job at _Jolie_.

The rest was history.

And he hadn't seen his father since.

They spoke on the phone a few times, but it was always the same nonsense: return home. You'll see who was right eventually, Adrien. Admit your mistakes, and you will be welcomed back with open arms.

But Adrien had been given a taste of what freedom was like, of what happiness and family and love were supposed to be. Marinette and her parents were everything he could have asked for. Now that he knew, he would never return, and he told his father as much.

A few months ago, his father had finally cracked. He'd seen that Adrien didn't need his support to succeed, that he was happy without him and would easily continue to be for the rest of his days.

One day, when Marinette was at work, he showed up at his door.

The vision of Gabriel Agreste, glowing, immaculate, _scathing,_ standing in the dingy hallway of his flat was absurd enough to make him burst out laughing. And to both of their surprise, he did.

"Does something amuse you?" Gabriel asked, voice flat as always. He was uncomfortable personified, hands folded stiffly behind his back and foot steadily tapping. The vision would have been enough to have Adrien quailing a few months ago. But not anymore.

His hand came up to rest against the doorframe, half to prevent him from seeing the contents of his apartment and half to support his suddenly unsteady legs. "I would have never expected you to come here, is all."

"That makes the pair of us," was his curt response. With an incline of his head towards the home behind him, he raised a brow. "Now, are you going to invite me inside, or shall we continue this nonsense in the hall?"

Adrien's body acted immediately to obey, but he stopped himself at once, gripping hard on the frame. "I don't know if that's the best idea."

Gabriel's face didn't waver. "Son."

"Don't call me son."

"That is who you are. Who you will continue to be—"

"Not after what you did to Marinette—"

"That girl had trouble written all over her!"

"I'm going to ask _that girl_ to marry me, and I won't let you hurt her the way you hurt me!"

Adrien's eyes went wide as he uttered the words that he hadn't yet admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. And across from him, for the first time, a crack had formed in Gabriel's immaculate visage.

Hurt was in his eyes.

 _Good_ , a twisted part of his head thought as he watched his father grapple with the truth. _Let him hurt like he hurt you._

But Adrien couldn't stomach the thought of being like him.

"Father," he said, a plea. "This isn't what I want. But…I love Marinette. I don't want to choose, but if you had me pick between her and you, I'll pick her every time. She's my entire life. You can either choose to be a part of it and make your peace with her, or stay away."

The hard silence that followed was perhaps the tensest of his life.

But finally, Gabriel swallowed. "Are you going to bring your wife home to this hovel? That won't do at all. I can have you back to the quality of which you are accustomed."

"We don't want your money."

"Then tell me what you—what _she_ needs. Her magazine shows promise. I—could highlight some of her designs, and you'll pay for the home yourself."

Adrien had never seen anything but ice in his father's eyes. Now, though, he saw something strange: an incredibly potent mixture of desperation and…apology. Hope.

His father would never apologize in so many words. He was too proud for that. But Adrien knew an olive branch when he saw one, and wouldn't torture the poor many anymore than he already had.

He lifted his hand from the doorframe, coughing once to disguise the lump that had formed in his throat. "Why don't you come inside?"

It was a tentative forgiveness at best, but it was something.

He thought he felt as though this was a new beginning…but if that were truly the case, why was he so nervous? He tugged at his tie again, trying not to sweat.

Nimble fingers covered his, pulling them away from the immaculate bowtie at his neck, and he started. He glanced down, his gaze meeting hers.

"Quit it," she demanded, though her eyes asked, _"Are you okay?"_

"Sorry," he replied. _"Yeah."_

She leaned in to brush a kiss against cheek, mindful of the sinful red that stained her lips. She was absolutely gorgeous, as she always was, and he reveled once again in the realization that she was his.

And wearing her own design, too. The talent of this woman.

"They're seating," she said as she pulled away. "Are you ready to go in?"

He nodded, reaching up for the last time to fiddle with his tie, but she caught his hand again, her eyes becoming disapproving.

"We don't have to do this," she reminded him. "We can turn around and leave right now."

Everyone who was anyone in the Parisian fashion scene was in that room. Countless people there were expecting them; they all had things they wanted to discuss about jobs or articles or products with him or her or both. The connections were crucial. These people could not be offended.

And yet, in that moment, Adrien knew that she meant exactly what she said. If he wasn't ready to face his father, none of the other things mattered. They would leave, repercussions be damned. It was yet another reminder of the unwavering devotion that she gave him, and it was enough to firm his resolve.

"I want to," he said, sucking in a breath. "Besides, the amount of revenue this deal is going to pull in will be enough to get us that place in Belize, if you want."

She frowned. "I don't care about Belize. I care about you."

He smiled. "I know. But I'm fine."

"All right." Marinette didn't look entirely convinced, but she let go of his hand. They merged into the steady mass of people flowing into the banquet hall, picking up their place settings as they went.

His phone buzzed in his pocket at the same time hers did.

In tandem, they reached for them, sighing heavily as they read what was across both of their screens: Akuma attack on the west side.

"We have to go," Adrien hissed, ready to turn, but Marinette grabbed him on the shoulder.

"We just got here!"

"Tell that to Hawkmoth."

Her brow ruffled, casting a sideways glance to the people around the room. "We can probably be back for dessert if we hurry."

"We can't come back after! We've already been seen. There's nothing to do."

Suddenly, Marinette's eyes sparkled. "I have an idea."

She stood up on her toes, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.

Heat rose to his cheeks as he noticed the eyes on the pair of them. "Mar, what are you d—"

" _Shh_ ," she hushed him, kissing up his cheek to murmur into his ear. "I'm getting us out of here."

Understanding washed over him, and he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to steady his frayed nerves. "You're incredible."

Taking his hand, she led them over to their table, where she put her clutch at her place, smiling her best smile.

"You'll excuse us," she drawled to the people already sitting in a voice so un-Marinette that Adrien nearly burst out laughing, ruining the whole charade. Somehow sensing this, her grip on his arm became tighter.

"Be back before dinner," said one of his father's colleagues, a knowing glint in his eye. God, if only he knew.

"No promises," muttered Adrien, kissing the top of Marinette's head as he wrapped his arm around her waist, escorting her back through the hall where they came.

He winced as he saw the cameras feverishly flashing their way, shutting them in a room at random.

An office. There was a window, and that was good enough.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said as he turned the lock, pulling a chair in front of the door for good measure. "We're going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow. You're going to have to deal with all the rumors!"

Marinette rolled her eyes as she pried open the glass. "Well, you're going to have to deal with your father."

Adrien wasn't sure what was worse.

Well, at least it got him out of dinner.


End file.
